


the art of letting go

by WhiteJackal



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: 5 Things, 5+1 Things, Gen, The Brothers Drake, all the morgan/drake brothers feelings, sibling feels, sic parvis magna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-29 20:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10143299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteJackal/pseuds/WhiteJackal
Summary: letting go of nathan has never been in sam's skillset.OR, five times sam couldn't let go of nathan, and the one time he finally could.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the first night at the st. francis boys' home.

You’re ten, and Nathan is five, and he’s looking at you like you’ve got answers to questions he can’t ask as you stand in the middle of this new place: this dormitory with rows of empty beds and dreary walls and cloudy windows. The sisters say that you’re going to be happy here, the two of you lost ( _given up, thrown away, never wanted enough to stay or keep_ ) boys.

“This will be _your_ room, Nathan,” Sister Margaret says. She’s smiling with that same thin smile all the nuns are wearing at the orphanage, and her eyes are full of tired resignation as she looks over the pair of you. _There’s too many of them already_ , you heard a few nuns saying when they thought you couldn’t hear, your arm wrapped around Nathan while he buried his head in your side, holding onto you and his stuffed monkey with equal ferocity. _We’re overworked as it is, and you’re bringing more boys here?_ They don’t want you or your brother any more than Dad wants you – any more than Mom wanted you enough to stay.

But all that about her isn’t important right now, because you understand the emphasis on ‘your’ in her sentence. Nathan understands, too, because he grips your hand even tighter and looks up at you, all wide eyes and trembling lips and skin still splotchy from crying. Your throat starts swelling, and you can feel everything start choking you, and you hold onto Nathan fiercely, hazel gaze turning to a glare as you stare down the sister.

“We’re stayin’ in the same room,” you tell her.

She looks surprised, but then her face hardens. “It’s not up to you, Samuel. These are the rules of St. Francis, and you must abide by them,” she says firmly. “I’m surprised at this attitude. I thought you boys would be _grateful_ to be sent to such a nice place.”

You’ve got to swallow a few times and grit your teeth to keep from crying and screaming and making a break for it all at once. You’d take Nathan with you, and the two of you would be fine – the two of you are always fine if you’ve got each other. You can't be grateful. Who the hell would be grateful for this? You'd be grateful if Mom was alive, if she'd loved them enough to stay and fight, even though she was sick and even though Dad was an asshole. You'd be grateful if Dad hadn't been _Dad_ : if he hadn't always picked himself over everybody else, right to the moment he dumped the two of you here. But you're not going to be grateful for women who don't even want you or like you or care about you or —

“… S-Sam…” Nathan’s small voice interrupts your thoughts, your violent desires and pains and stresses. He’s got tears in his eyes ( _damn how much he looks like Mom, and damn how much that hurts_ ) as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He’s missing one of his front two teeth. He’s still all baby fat – less since Mom died and Dad became their primary ‘caregiver,’ until a few minutes ago when he dropped you off at the orphanage and surrendered the two of you to the state of Massachusetts – and soft fingers and tiny cries and fragile bones. He’s tough because you’re both tough – there’s never been a time when you didn’t have to be – but he’s still just a _baby_. And even though this place already sucks, and even though you know you’re going to hate it every day until you get to leave, you know it’s the best place for Nathan right now. So you’ll make it work.

You put on a smile and stoop down to Nathan’s level. “I betcha I’ll be right down the hall from you, Nathan.” You cast a faux-submissive, pleading glance at Sister Margaret over your shoulder. “Ain’t that right, Sister?”

You can tell that she doesn’t buy your pleasantries, and you can tell that you haven’t charmed or fooled her for one second; but she smiles and nods anyway. It puts Nathan at ease a bit, the shaking in his hands lessening. He blinks once, and a few tears fall. You pull him in close immediately, and you hate your father more than you’ve ever hated anyone or anything. You’re not going to think about him again, you tell yourself. You and Nathan don’t need him. You’ve got each other – only each other. It isn’t fair, but you’re starting to realize and reconcile that nothing about your life is fair. But you can make _Nathan’s_ life better, one moment at a time. That’s your job now. Maybe that’s been your job from the beginning: from the moment Mom placed Nathan in your arms, all squishy and red and in need of protections.

_It’s always gonna be my job, little brother._

“You know I ain’t gonna leave you,” you say quietly into Nathan’s shoulder. “I ain’t ever gonna really leave you. That’s a promise, little brother.”

You’ll sneak back into the younger boys’ dormitory that night, even though you’ll get into trouble, because you’re Samuel Morgan, you don’t let go of your promises.

And you don’t let go of Nathan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sam's last night at the st. francis boys' home.

You’re sixteen, and Nathan is eleven, and they’re telling you that you’re no good for him anymore.

“You haven’t been for a long time now, Samuel,” Sister Grace says. “Nathan is still young, and he needs to be influenced by someone… else.”

_Someone different, someone better than you, Samuel Morgan._

Your throat feels like ripped sandpaper when you try to swallow. You know you’re not the shining example of a good Catholic kid – not by any stretch or long-shot – and you’ve never wanted to be. But right now you’d give anything to be somebody different, somebody better at being what the sisters and Father Duffy have always wanted you to be.

“But… there _is_ nobody else.” Your protests sound small and squeaky and weak in your own, ringing ears. Your hands tremble as they grip the armrests of your chair. “I’m… all he’s got.”

“We’ll take care of Nathan.” Sister Grace crosses her hands atop her desk, looking across at you with a hardness that’s reserved for the boys like _you_ at St. Francis: the lost causes, the kids halfway in Lucifer’s arms already. Usually, you like that the sisters look at you like that ( _you don’t want to be like those good kids here, who pray and simper and tell you that your mom’s in hell_ ) but you know what Sister Grace’s words about Nathan mean. They mean that they’re going to send him away, that they’ll try to foster him again because _you’ll_ be out of the picture. There won’t be you sneaking to bust him out this time; there won’t be you making Nathan restless and unhappy in this new home without you; for the first time, there won’t be _you_ to screw everything up for everybody.

“I take care of Nathan,” you say quietly, though you’re trying to be firm and stern and brave.

Sister Grace clenches her jaw. “Not anymore.”

Then she starts to tell you all about where they’ll be sending you now ( _some group home for troubled boys, rough and awful by the sound of it_ ) but you’re not paying attention. It won’t matter where they send you – you know that without knowing the details of what’s going to happen in your life very soon: you’ll run away, and you’ll find work, and you’ll start down the path that can’t stop and won’t stop and hasn’t ever stopped for you.

But, most importantly, you’ll sneak back inside the gates of St. Francis and see Nathan as often as you can, keeping him glued inside the orphanage and the two of you as ‘together’ as you can be.

Because you’re Samuel Morgan, and you _don’t let go_ of taking care of Nathan.

How can you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this chapter SUPER FAST, too. so forgive the crappiness and typos i'm sure exist.

**Author's Note:**

> dude, i wrote this so fast. there's probably so much wrong with it, and my subsequent updates probably won't be written as quickly or as roughly as this first chapter. but i'm happy, in the most feelsy, saddest way possible. i love these brothers, and i love big brother samuel. i have genuine big brother/sisters feels every day of my life, so this will kill me all the time.


End file.
